In the Arena
In the Arena
The Courage to Connect
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The Courage to Connect

Who I am is rooted in my devotion to community.

These have been deeply trying years for our society.

So many of us are carrying burdens that often go unseen—financial pressures, strained relationships, health struggles, and the deep ache of isolation. I understand how easily modern life can leave us feeling alone, even when we’re surrounded by others.

I want to share a moment from my own life that shaped how I see the responsibilities of leadership—and the quiet struggles so many families live with every day.

Working to Distraction

When I was in my first year teaching at West Point, I was also coming to grips with the full reality of raising a child with significant special needs. My son had been diagnosed with autism and had been non-verbal since early childhood. But for years, during grad school, I had been so focused on my coursework that I was somewhat insulated from the daily realities of his therapy and care.

At West Point, those realities began to hit harder. I was still buried in teaching and administrative work, but it was also the season when I began to feel the weight of what my son was facing more deeply.

Hitting a Wall

There’s one moment I’ll never forget.

My wife and daughter were out of town, and it was just my son and me at home. Our neighborhood was hosting a block party. You could hear the kids laughing in the courtyard, smell the food from the potluck. I dropped off a dish we’d prepared—but I didn’t stay. Instead, I returned home, sat at the foot of the stairs, and held my son beside me.

Ft. Drum, N.Y.—Moment with my son the night before my 2014 deployment to Afghanistan with the US Army’s 10th Mountain Division

And in that moment, I felt profoundly alone.

Not because anyone had said or done anything wrong. But because I didn’t want to face the reminder that my life—and my son’s life—was different. That he couldn’t connect with the other kids the way they could with each other. And so, I self-isolated.

Later that night, our neighbors kindly returned our empty containers, cleaned and left on the porch. When I saw them, I felt a quiet kind of grief that’s hard to explain—not the kind that brings tears, but the kind that sits on you like a heavy blanket you can’t shake off.

I intend to always be there for others

That moment has stayed with me. You don’t forget what it is like to hit that low point. And the lessons from that experience are an important part of why I am running for office.

Because I know that so many others are carrying burdens just like it. Whether it’s the challenge of making ends meet, the strain of caregiving, or the heartbreak of watching your child struggle in a world that doesn’t always understand them—these are the quiet battles that don’t make headlines, but they define our lives.

My commitment to you is this: I will never forget what you are going through. I will never forget the fight to protect your children’s future, to keep your family together, and to find dignity in the everyday struggle.

And as your representative in Austin, I will carry your stories with me every single day. I get it—and I will fight for you.